


you fit me better (than my favourite sweater)

by sarahcakes613



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Come Marking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rare Pairings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Jackson's back in town, and the sheriff gets called to pick him up after a bar fight. The sheriff takes Jackson in hand and there are unrepentant daddy kinks and some feelings along the way.





	you fit me better (than my favourite sweater)

**Author's Note:**

> I never even would have contemplated this ship if it weren't for some not!fic that kestra_troi posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/45839827 and once I thought about it, the idea would not leave my head.

It’s well into the witching hour when Noah gets the call, and his ringing phone draws him begrudgingly out of his sleep. He reaches for it, turns the lamp on as he answers.

“Stilinski.” He grumbles. He can hear thumping music in the background, a low bassline. Whoever’s calling him is doing so from a club, or bar maybe.

“Hey, Sheriff, sorry to bother you so late, it’s Tim Collins, over at The Rum Punch? You gave me your card a few months ago, told me to call you direct if there were any incidents with, you know…them?” The voice lowers on the last word, an emphasis that can only mean one thing.

“Yeah, no, it’s good you called. What kind of incident are we talking about here?” He asks, sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed. He hopes it’s nothing apocalyptic, things have been so quiet the past year with his kid and the others away at school. If he needs backup he’s got Argent on speed dial, and Jordan’s on nights right now if he needs to call it in to the station.

“Bar fight, only one of ‘em is a shifter, wouldn’t stay down. Turned into five-on-one before I waded in. I tossed the other guys out already, but now this kid’s refusing to leave, and he ain’t letting himself heal either. I threatened to call the cops and he mentioned you by name.”

“You get a name out of him?” He doesn’t think any of Scott’s kids are likely to be getting into fights in dive bars, but he knows there’s a larger underground community out there and it’s not like they have a sign-up sheet at the town borders, could be someone he’s run across through work and not even realized.

He hears a rustling as Collins asks the shifter his name, and then Collins is back on the line. “He says his name’s Whittemore, Jackson Whittemore. Says it like I oughta know it, too.”

Noah rubs a hand down his face, what the hell is Jackson doing back in town? He hasn’t exactly kept tabs, but the kids talk, and he overhears things. Last he’d overheard, the Whittemores had returned stateside but had landed in the East Coast somewhere, Boston, or maybe Philadelphia.

“Right, thanks for calling me, I’ll be there in twenty.” He hangs up, throws on a pair of jeans and a UC Davis sweater. He decides not to bother with the uniform, he’s not going in an official capacity, and with any luck he’ll be back in bed within the hour.

He’s not familiar with the bar, it’s one that opened well after he stopped drinking, but it looks about the same as any other dive bar in California. The neon beer signs are flickering, the floor looks grimy, and he’d bet dollars to donuts that if he took a handful of the pretzels on the bar, they’d be stale as all get-out.

Even the guy behind the bar looks the same as every other dive bartender, about Noah’s age, slightly paunchy at the waist, tobacco-stained moustache and the kind of haircut you get for fifteen bucks at a strip mall barbershop.

The only thing out of place is the young man sitting slumped over on a bar stool, head buried in his hands. There are still plenty of patrons talking in the bar, music is still playing, but his shoulders tensed up when the sheriff walked in and Noah knows he is listening.

“Tim, was it? Thanks again for calling. I hope there was no damage in the fight?”

“A couple of beer bottles won’t make it back to the depot, but nothing worth making a stink about. Just a buncha dumb college kids talking shit, wouldn’t even have called if this one hadn’t refused to leave. Like I said, that’s when he mentioned your name. I run a decent place here sheriff; I got no problem with shifters, they pay same as anyone and don’t generally turn into sloppy drunks, but I don’t need any problems in my bar.”

“I understand. You’ve got my word this one won’t be a problem again.”

He shakes Tim’s hand, then carefully drops a hand onto Jackson’s shoulder.

“Come on son, let’s go.”

Jackson’s shoulders hunch further at that, but he pushes himself off the stool, sneers at Tim, and walks out of the bar. Noah follows behind, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what the altercation was about, doesn’t much care, but he can see that Jackson’s blood is still up, he’s still itching for a fight. The younger man stops outside the car, looks sideways at the sheriff.

“Am I under arrest, or can I sit in the front?” He says it with a scoffing tone, but Noah can hear the underlying current of tension in his voice.

“You’re not under arrest, son.” His own tone is mild in response.

Jackson jerks his head in a nod, gets into the front seat. He’s holding himself stiffly, Noah can see bruises along his jawline, and he’s sure there are more under his shirt. His lip was also split at some point and it looks healed up but there is still some blood, already dry and flaking on his mouth.

He shakes his head again, this isn’t how he imagined his night going, not how he’d imagine any night going, but here it is and his own kid may be grown and off to university but he’s still a father and there is a boy right in front of him who needs looking after.

He drives silently, no radio to break the stillness of the night. Jackson’s hands are clenching and unclenching, the claws flicking in and out in a rhythm of sorts, almost like he’s imagining a keyboard under his fingers.

When they pull up to the house, Jackson tilts his head up, scenting the air. Noah huffs a laugh.

“Stiles isn’t home, son. Come on, you can sleep in his room tonight, but we should get you cleaned up first.”

The were’ is quiet as he is led into the house, he toes his shoes off and stands there, looking impossibly young and lost in his stockinged feet.

He leads the boy upstairs, nudges him into the bathroom and wets a cloth to dab at the blood on his face. Jackson winces, hisses behind his teeth. Cleaned up, the bruises stand out vividly purple against his tanned skin.

“Is there a reason you’re not healing like normal?” The older man asks gently. Argent keeps him informed on hunter movements, so he’s relatively sure any punches thrown around weren’t assisted by wolfsbane infused weapons.

The boy curls in on himself, hands gripping his elbows. His response is muffled, spoken down his chin into his chest.

“It takes more energy, when you’re packless. Cuts or whatever, I can do it, but bruises, the less important stuff, it’s not worth it. It’ll be gone in a day or so anyhow.”

Packless. Well, shit. Of course, he hasn’t reached out to Scott or Derek, hasn’t told anyone he was back in Beacon Hills, but surely he’s got an alpha back East, unless pack ties don’t stretch that far? And if not, why would his alpha have let him go? The sheriff has heard stories about packless weres, knows that going omega can kill them if left alone too long. If Jackson’s been abandoned…he’s angry at that thought, who in their right mind would abandon someone who’s already been through so much?

A broken cry breaks his thought process, and he realises his scent must have changed, the boy is cringing now, head tilted all the way forward, the nape of his neck exposed in submission. He is whimpering softly and Noah feels his heart crack a little.

“Aw hell, no, hey, come on kiddo, look at me.” He croons, gives him a chuck under the chin. Jackson tilts his head back up, eyes wide and a little bit shiny.

He’s not sure where it’s come from, but he feels protective of the younger man, wants to curl up with him until he knows he’s cared for. Noah rubs the back of his neck, not sure how exactly to approach this, but decides to just go for it. He’s too old to be embarrassed about this shit. He reaches for Jackson’s hand, draws it up against his own heartbeat so the boy will feel the honesty in his words.

“There you are, hey, don’t worry, okay? You’re not packless, not tonight. I’ve got you, kiddo.”

“That’s…you don’t have to do that for me, sir.” Jackson says it so quietly; he almost doesn’t hear it.

“Too late, I’m doing it. No arguing, son. You can still have Stiles’ bed if you want, his room is probably infused with the scent of pack at this point,” he pauses, unsure if he should continue, but he goes on, “or you can join me in my bed. It won’t smell as much like pack, but I know it helps to have body heat, or whathave- “

His words are cut off by a sudden surge of lips against his. He stands frozen for a moment, and Jackson pulls back, flushed, cringing again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t make me leave, I’ll sleep on the floor if you want, please.” The words fall from his mouth quickly, like he’s afraid he won’t have a chance to get them all out before he is forced to leave.

Noah is too damn tired to sort this out in his brain at the moment, so he just pulls Jackson back in for a hug to reassure him, cups the back of his head with one large hand.

“It’s fine, Jackson. You’re fine. It’s late, you’ve had a rough night, I’m exhausted, let’s just get you to bed, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

He leads Jackson by the hand, feeling oddly reluctant to let go of this small bit of contact. The boy doesn’t seem to mind, his own hand clinging to Noah’s tightly. Once in his bedroom, he casts a concerned eye over the boy. He’s managed not to get too much blood on his clothes, but they don’t look like the sort of thing that’d be comfortable to sleep in. He’s only about an inch shorter than Stiles, but there’s a breadth to his shoulders that his son doesn’t have. He pulls out a clean BCSD t-shirt and hands it over.

Jackson takes the offering, and before Noah has a chance to turn around, he is pulling off his own shirt, slipping this one on, and there is the faint ting of metal as he unbuckles his belt, unzips and kicks off his jeans. He stands there in the sheriff’s t-shirt and his briefs and looks up through his eyelashes at the older man.

Noah clears his throat, gestures to the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on. “You can take that side; I’ll be along shortly.” He turns abruptly, heads back downstairs to make sure doors are locked and lights are off. When he returns, the lamp on his side of the bed is on, the overhead off, and there is a large curled-up lump in his bed, only a few curls of hair peeking out from under the duvet. It’s quiet, but it’s an intentional quiet, like Jackson is still awake and waiting for some sign that it is safe to fall asleep. He kicks off his own jeans and sweater, turns off the lamp, climbs into bed. He lies on his back, cognizant of the body next to his, heat and a dip to the mattress that has only felt his own weight for the past ten years. As he settles, he can feel the other man settling as well, uncurling slightly and shifting so he is on his side facing the sheriff. Jackson reaches out one hand cautiously, like he is afraid of a rebuff, and lets it rest next to the sheriff’s arm. Noah twitches his hand, just enough that their fingers catch, and they fall asleep like that, the sheriff and the packless wolf, fingers tangled together.

* * *

Noah is drawn slowly out of sleep by the play of light shining through the window and he forgets for the briefest moment that he is not alone, until an attempt at a full-body stretch is stopped by the fact that there is a still-sleeping werewolf curled up against his chest. They’ve both moved some in the night, and they are now on their sides facing each other, so close that Noah can see the flutter of eyelashes as Jackson shifts from deep sleep to a drowsy semi-wakefulness. He pushes himself closer to Noah, humming in a sleepy contented tone, pushes his nose to Noah’s neck and Noah holds himself very still as he feels another part of Jackson prodding against his hip.

The younger man is still asleep enough that he doesn’t seem to realise the state he’s in, or the state he’s slowly bringing to the sheriff. Noah’s not blind, and he’s not dead, the boy is beautiful, and there are only two very thin layers separating them from skin-to-skin contact. He tries to shift his hips back, to prevent his own arousal from pushing against Jackson, but when he pulls back Jackson’s hum changes into a broken whine and his hands curl up in Noah’s shirt, gripping the fabric to keep him close.

“Don’t go, please. I want…I need this. Please, can I have this?” Jackson’s voice is low, his tone so innocent and hopeful that the sheriff feels another throb of arousal as he wonders what specifically the _this_ is that the boy is asking for.

“I’m not going anywhere, son, I’m right here, hey, shh, it’s okay. What do you need, son? Tell me what you need.” He looks down at the boy, tries to keep his voice steady but he’s sure the were’ will be able to pick up on the complex layers of emotions he’s feeling right now, desire mixing in with shame and concern.

Jackson opens his eyes now, looks up at Noah and his eyes are a silent plea, but Noah needs to hear it, needs to hear the words before he even thinks about acting on them. He looks the younger man in the eyes, sees him struggle, but waits patiently for a response.

It’s a soft whisper of a response, when it finally comes.

“Please, please, touch me? I just need…it helps, it feels so good, sir.”

Noah’s not sure he wants to explore the shiver that crawls up the back of his neck at the way _sir_ sounds coming out of this boy’s mouth, the begging tone in his voice.

He opens his arms, wraps them around the boy and draws him in close. He feels another surge of anger, the boy is clearly starved for touch and whoever his recent alpha was, doesn’t deserve the loyalty or affection of this beautiful wolf.

“Whatever you need, son, I’ve got you now.”

He can feel Jackson’s body pressing flush against his, like the boy is trying to get as much contact as possible at once. He pauses, then decides to throw caution to the wind, reaches down to tug his shirt off. Jackson’s lips part, teeth coming out to chew on his lower lip as he watches, and then he pulls at the shirt he is wearing, throwing it off as well, before pushing himself back against the sheriff. He moans at the contact of skin on skin, and between the sounds the boy is making and the warm heat of the body pressed against his, Noah knows the scent of his arousal must be thick now but the were’ doesn’t seem to mind. His cock is hard, Noah can feel it, hot even through the fabric still covering it, rubbing against Noah’s stomach.

He thinks about the way he’s seen the shifters touch each other, absent-minded and completely lacking in self-consciousness, like it’s just as reflexive as breathing. He thinks about the way Peter and Derek talk to the younger wolves, and wonders when the last time was that someone spoke to Jackson in any kind of loving manner. He knows he can’t actually replace that bond that an omega or beta would feel with an alpha, but he’s got two decades of experience as a parent, as a community leader, and he knows how to talk to people, how to make them feel safe and good and loved.

“I have you now, son. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I promise. As long as you’re here with me, I’m going to make sure you feel good. I’ve got you, pup.”

The diminutive slips out unintentionally, and the omega’s response is immediate. Jackson inhales sharply and then keens, a high-pitched whine that even the sheriff’s human ears can interpret as needy. Jackson begins mouthing at Noah’s neck and now his tongue darts out to lap at his pulse point, dull human teeth scraping the skin slightly. The sheriff feels the rasp of the were’s tongue against his day-old stubble and what little thought he had left for propriety is gone out the window.

In a reversal of the previous night, it is the older man who now pulls the younger up so they are face-to-face, and surges forward to kiss him. Jackson’s mouth is open under his, his lips already wet and swollen from the way he has been nervously chewing at them. The sheriff slips his tongue out just a bit to lick at the boy’s mouth and it is enough to engender a response, the boy’s own tongue meeting his.

The kiss is hard, brutal and bruising. Jackson has one hand on Noah’s jaw, Noah’s hands are both winding through the boy’s hair. He deepens the kiss, licking into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson sucks at his lip, biting it a little. He nips at Jackson’s lip in response, tightens one fist just enough to pull slightly at hair, and the boy whines again, thrusting his hips against the older man.

The were’ pulls away from Noah’s mouth and starts kissing his jaw, his neck, the boy’s lips and tongue and teeth tracing a path down his body. He rubs his face in the curly hair matting Noah’s chest, lowers his mouth over one nipple and stops to look up at Noah through heavy-lidded eyes, and then there is a hot, wet suction on his nipple, first one and then the other, and it’s like there is a line in his body leading directly from his chest to his cock because the steady beat of arousal that has been thrumming through him is now twanging and he is so hard it almost hurts.

Jackson’s nostrils flare as he inhales the change in scent, and his mouth continues its journey down, down his body, until it reaches the waistband of Noah’s boxers. He looks up at Noah again before hooking a finger into the elastic and tugging, pulling until they are far enough down that the older man can kick them off. Noah shifts back a bit, leans against the headboard so he has a better view, and he sees the boy’s eyes widen as they take in the sight of his cock, thick and red and hard, jutting out in front of him.

Noah’s size has always been a matter-of-fact situation for him, not something he spends much time really thinking about, like his height or the colour of his eyes. All the same, he can’t help but pride himself a little at Jackson’s reaction, the way his lips part and his breathing quickens as he looks at it.

Jackson reaches out tentatively, looks at Noah as if to ask permission. Noah jerks his head in a nod and Jackson wraps one hand around his cock. It’s thick enough that Jackson’s thumb and fingers barely touch, and the tip is already wet with precum. The were’ runs his thumb through the liquid, brings it up to his mouth to taste. Noah lets out a gasp, and Jackson freezes, thumb in his mouth. He slides it slowly out, licks the palm of his hand and wraps it around Noah’s cock again, stroking it this time, once, twice, before lowering himself down to rub his face in the man’s groin, inhaling deeply. He mouths his way up the shaft and back down, runs his tongue down around Noah’s balls, and then, propping himself up on the man’s thighs, he seals his mouth over the tip of Noah’s cock and sucks.

Noah tosses his head back, he can’t remember the last time he had this, and it feels so damn good.

“Oh fuck, yes, yeah, that feels so good. You look so good right now sweetheart, your mouth all stretched out over my cock, you’re taking it so damn good.”

Jackson wriggles at the praise, breathing through his nose as he tries to work his mouth further down the other man’s cock. It truly is a sight, his mouth shiny and spit-slick as he pushes himself up and down. His eyes are welling up, a few teardrops leaking out as he strains to take Noah’s cock all the way down his throat. Noah groans, Jackson looks so pretty, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold out much longer. He winds a hand back into the boy’s hair, holds his head in place and begins slowly thrusting his hips.

“You’re so good Jackson, such a good boy, letting me fuck your mouth. You gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?”

The boy nods, frantically, sucking and licking as Noah pushes his cock in and out of Jackson’s mouth. Jackson is thrusting himself against the bed as his head bobs up and down and Noah marvels at how much Jackson is enjoying being used. He can feel himself getting close, can feel that razor’s edge drawing near, and he pushes Jackson’s head down, feels the boy’s throat flutter around his cock, and that is all it takes before he is coming, pulsing hot right down Jackson’s throat. Jackson swallows reflexively, continues to suckle as the sheriff’s cock softens, licking it clean.

Noah pulls the boy on top of him, intending to finish Jackson off with his hand, but when he reaches down he finds Jackson soft, his briefs damp and sticky.

“Did you – baby boy, did you come from sucking my cock?” He asks softly.

His boy flushes, nods, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I couldn’t hold it in.” He mumbles, ashamed.

“Oh, you beautiful pup,” Noah breathes out. “You have nothing to apologize for, baby. You did so good, you were such a good boy for me.”

Jackson’s flush deepens, his pupils dilating, and Noah vows to praise him as much as possible, because the way he responds to it is intoxicating.

He gently pulls Jackson’s briefs down, tosses them aside. Even soft, his boy’s cock is gorgeous, and he can’t resist leaning down and slipping it into his mouth for a taste. Jackson gasps, his hips lifting off the bed. The sheriff pulls back, taps him on the hip.

“Turn over baby boy, I want to taste the rest of you.”

Jackson hastens to obey, lies down on his stomach, chin propped up on his arms. He turns his head to watch as Noah moves between his legs and kneels down behind him.

It’s been years since he’s done anything like this, but sense memory doesn’t let him down. Noah runs a hand down the small of Jackson’s back, down the cleft of his ass, slides a thumb between his cheeks. He strokes gently, just enjoying the feeling of petting his boy. He brings his face down, can smell the sharp tang of cum but under it is a rich, musky scent that is all Jackson, and he can’t imagine how much headier it would be if he had a shifter’s nose, because as it is he can’t wait to get a taste.

Using both hands to part his cheeks, Noah licks one long stripe right over his boy’s hole, watches as his muscles clench and quiver. He lays kisses across his entire backside, occasionally nipping at his cheeks, before returning to his hole, laying a kiss directly on it. Jackson reaches back, hands tugging at his ass to keep himself on display, and Noah rewards him by licking delicately around his rim, soft, careful licks, until Jackson’s muscles relax, and he is able to slip the tip of his tongue right into his boy’s ass. He continues working his tongue in and out, stroking at the rim with his thumb. He leans further in, buries his face between his boy’s cheeks, pushing more of his tongue in and flexing it side to side.

Jackson moans, pushing back against Noah’s mouth. Noah swats him gently across the thigh and he gasps, but holds himself still. He keeps going, licking and sucking at his boy’s sweet hole, alternating between thrusting a pointed tongue in and using the flat of his tongue around the outside, running it down Jackson’s perineum and gently tugging Jackson’s balls into his mouth, sucking on them hard and releasing them with a pop. Jackson’s cock is hardening up again, the head just peeking out of the foreskin, flushed a heavy red.

Jackson is panting now, mumbling something into the pillow, all he can make out is “please…need it…” and the sheriff pulls back, drapes himself over Jackson’s back to murmur directly into his ear.

“What are you saying, baby? What do you need?”

Jackson shakes his head, buries his face in the bed.

“Hey, none of that, pup. Haven’t I given you everything you’ve asked for? Come on, pup, tell me what my baby boy needs.”

It comes out muffled, but the words ring through the sheriff’s ears clear as a goddamn bell.

“I need you to fuck me, daddy.”

Noah sits back on his heels, the blood rushing from every part of him directly down to his cock as he looks down at the boy in front him, pleading so prettily. He doesn’t know when his refractory period was last this short but he’s already rock hard again and throbbing at the thought of splitting this boy’s beautiful ass open with his cock.

“Please daddy, I’m being so good, you said I’ve been good, I need it. Need you.”

He holds himself over Jackson again, nudges at his ear, nipping it and then soothing it with a kiss.

“You’re right, Jackson, you are being so, so good. Daddy would love to fuck you, baby.”

Noah rolls over the bed to his nightstand, rummaging in the drawer for lube and a condom. When he sees what the older man’s taken out of the drawer, Jackson blurts out, “we don’t need that!”. Noah arches an eyebrow, looks sternly at him.

“We need lube baby; I’m not doing this if it’s going to hurt you.”

“No, I mean, no condom, daddy. We don’t need a condom. Please, I want you to come in me again. I want to smell like you.”

Noah’s cock throbs with another pulse of arousal at the thought of his boy walking around smelling like him, every shifter in Beacon Hills knowing who this boy belongs to. He spares a grateful if resigned thought for the awkward ‘shifter safe sex’ talk Derek had given the kids before they all went off to college, he knows there’s no way Jackson’s carrying anything, and god, the thought of sliding his cock into the omega’s ass without any barrier is enough that he has to reach a hand down and clamp the base of his cock.

Noah pats his boy on the hip. “On your back, baby, I want to see your pretty face when I’m fucking you.”

Jackson rolls over, lets his legs fall wide apart, knees drawn up. He is a work of art, tan skin flushed pink, last night’s bruises already faded to a pale yellow. His cock is half-hard against his thigh, and Noah sees it fattening up under his gaze. He leans down, slides it into his mouth, taking it nearly to the hilt and letting it slowly slip back out, pressing his tongue flat against the base of the head, swirling his tongue around it and licking at the sticky-sweet precum that is beading up from the slit.

He reaches for the lube, pouring some onto his fingers. He rubs them together, warming it up, and with his mouth working the omega’s cock, he slowly pushes his forefinger against his hole. There is only the slightest resistance before his finger is enveloped in a tight, lush heat, and he groans, pulling off Jackson’s cock and focusing all of his attention on stretching his baby boy out. He drives his finger in and out a few times, until he feels the slightest give in the muscle, and adds a second finger. He continues to push them in and out steadily until Jackson’s pants turn to whimpers, and then slips a third finger in. The fit is so tight now, the boy’s hole a vice grip on his fingers. He spreads them out a little, stretching him inside, and one finger catches on a walnut-sized gland; he pushes down slightly on it and Jackson’s cock jumps.

Noah zeroes in on that spot, circling and pressing lightly with his fingers, torn between watching his fingers disappearing into the boy’s ass and watching the play of emotions over the boy’s face, the sting as his boy feels himself stretching followed by the pleasure of fingers rubbing against his prostate.

He is about to work his pinky in when Jackson grips his wrist, stops him.

“No more fingers, I’m ready.”

Noah looks down at his hand in Jackson’s ass, measures it against his own cock, shakes his head.

“Not yet baby, one more finger and then you’ll be ready for daddy’s cock.”

The omega doesn’t let go, his eyes flashing, a brief flicker of iridescent blue fading into the usual cornflower blue, his mouth turning down in a pout.

“I’m ready now, please. I want you to finish opening me up on your cock.”

Noah groans, lays a hard kiss on his boy’s lush mouth.

“Okay, if you’re sure, baby.”

“I’m sure, daddy.” Jackson wraps his hands under his knees, pulls them higher up to better present his ass.

Noah gently pulls his fingers out, pours some more lube onto his hand and rubs it onto his cock. He guides his cock to Jackson’s ass, rubs the tip over his hole until it just catches on the rim. He works it in slowly, so slowly, feeling that hot velvet tightness gripping him. He pulls back out, drives himself back in, each thrust taking him deeper. He pauses halfway in, his hands on Jackson’s thighs, pushing them down against his torso.

Jackson has his head thrown back, his neck a long, exposed line of skin, and Noah feels a compulsion to bite at it. With one final thrust, he is buried in his boy’s ass and he leans down to lick at the omega’s throat, bites lightly at the skin there. Jackson’s muscles tighten, clenching down on Noah’s cock.

“Daddy, please – you gotta, you gotta move. Please, daddy, fuck me.” His boy’s begging is desperate and he is not inclined to cruelty, but he stays still in Jackson for another moment, luxuriating in the feeling of being buried so deep in his baby boy’s ass.

Eventually he starts to move again, circling his hips slowly, shallow thrusts, never fully pulling out, going as deep as he can with every push. He knows when he nudges against Jackson’s prostate, because Jackson lets out another broken whimper, one hand falling from holding onto his leg to clutch at the bedsheets.

He keeps at that position, his cock nailing Jackson’s prostate with every thrust, and there is a sudden tearing sound as Jackson loses control of his shift slightly, claws slipping out and ripping the sheets he is holding on to. Noah feels a rush of conceit that the young were’ is so overcome with sensation he’s lost some control, and he channels that into his movements, pounding into Jackson as the boy claws at the bed.

Jackson is panting, punchy little breaths escaping from his throat as he arches his hips to meet the older man with each thrust. The boy’s cock is slapping against his stomach, steadily leaking precum. Noah reaches for the claw-tipped hand, brings it up to his mouth and kisses the palm. Jackson struggles to take a deep breath, controls himself enough to sheathe his claws. Noah draws two of Jackson’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, laving his tongue down and around them to get them wet, and then guides Jackson to wrap his hand around his own cock.

“You think you can come while daddy fucks you, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah daddy, I’m gonna…I’m gonna come daddy, m’ so close.” Jackson strips his cock fast, the head spurting out more precum as it pushes in and out of the tight grasp of his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s it baby, come all over daddy’s stomach, make me smell like you.”

He knows that’s probably not the best idea, the sheriff walking into a station half-staffed with shifters who will smell the much younger omega were’ on him, but he is beyond caring at this point, he’s claimed this boy as his and it’s only fair that everyone knows he is claimed in turn.

It’s that request that sends Jackson over the edge, eyes squeezed tight and mouth open as he comes, shooting pearly ropes of cum across Noah’s stomach.

Noah swipes a finger through the mess, bringing some of the residue up to his mouth and lapping at it so the bitter, salty flavour floods his mouth. He rubs at the rest, massaging it into his skin, never missing a beat as he continues to hammer into Jackson.

“Are you going to come in me, daddy?” It’s asked in a guileless tone, his boy so open and wanting. “Are you going to fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours?” His eyes are glassy, he's cumdrunk, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“That’s right baby,” he grunts, thrusting his hips faster as he chases release, his balls slapping against Jackson’s ass with every shove. “I’m going to come so deep in you honey, you’re going to smell like me for days. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mine, gonna know I’m your daddy now.”

He lets out one final hard moan as his climax punches through him, waves of his cum spilling into Jackson’s ass, his hips stuttering as he rides out the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm.

He is reluctant to pull out of his boy’s willing body, but he does so, sliding out slowly. Some of his seed spills out, and he scoops it up, fucks it back in with his fingers. His boy’s hole is loose, the skin red and puffy, and he strokes it softly, enjoying the minute twitches as Jackson’s over-sensitized body reacts to further stimulation.

Noah rolls over, goes to push himself out of the bed, and Jackson lets out a noise, wordless but clearly worried.

“I’ll be right back honey; I’m just going to get something to clean us up.”

Jackson nods, but looks wary. The sheriff walks over to his ensuite, wets a towel and gives himself a quick pat-down before bringing it out to Jackson. He rubs Jackson down, careful of the faded bruises, and when he is done, he tucks the duvet back around his boy.

“Sir? What happens now?” It comes out in a whisper, almost like Jackson is afraid to voice it.

Noah doesn’t really know what things will look like moving forward, but he does know he doesn’t want to let go of this precious gift that’s been given to him, this boy who is so open and loving and deserving of love.

“I don’t entirely know, honey. I’ve meant every damn word I said though,” He looks down at Jackson, smiles wryly. “I’m yours if you want me, baby. If you just want me to be your daddy, or sir, or even just Noah, I'll be all of them."

“I want you, I just…didn’t know if you’d want me too. I mean, for more than this.” His darling boy is nervous, picking at a loose thread in the duvet, eyes cutting to Noah and then darting away.

“I do, oh sweetheart, I do. I want you in my bed every morning, every night, hell, I want you bringing me lunch at the station so everyone can see how goddamn lucky I am.”

“More like so Stiles can finally stop bugging you about what you’re eating at work.” Jackson’s smile is small, but it reaches his eyes.

The older man winces at the thought of his kid, that’s one conversation he’s not looking forward to having, but it’s a necessary one. The more he is with Jackson, the less he wants to imagine a time when he isn’t. He’s gone on a handful of dates since he took his wedding ring off a few years ago, but none of them had come close to making him feel the way he does now, looking at Jackson, certainly not in this short a time.

“We’ll figure it out in time, baby,” He says softly. “For now, why don’t I go down and make us some breakfast, hmm? You gave this old man quite a workout.”

“I can help, if you want. I learned to make a pretty good English breakfast when I was living overseas.” Jackson looks so earnest, like he is worried he needs to prove his worth, and it damn near breaks Noah’s heart again to think of how alone the were’ has been.

“Sure thing, sweetheart, you can help me.”

Jackson beams at him, his whole face lit up. They get dressed, Noah in his weekend sweats and Jackson back into his borrowed t-shirt and a pair of the sheriff’s boxers. The shirt drapes loosely on Jackson’s frame, and Noah may not be a wolf, but he understands the impulse they have for publicly claiming their partners via clothing. The BCSD t-shirt is a beacon to everyone that the sheriff claims this young man. As long as Jackson smells like him, wears his shirts, there will be a sign over his head that says _property of Sheriff Noah Stilinski_.

He’s not a young man and he’s already come twice this morning, but the thought makes his cock twitch in his pants. The were’s nostrils flare and Noah can feel his cheeks heating up. He feels like he’s back in his own early 20’s, ready to jump back into bed while still fuckdrunk from the last tumble.

He’d been thinking about making French toast, something with syrup and fruit that he could lick off Jackson’s mouth, but now he thinks maybe something lighter, higher in protein. He realizes that if Stiles and Jackson conspire, he’ll be eating nothing but health food from hereon out, but the trade-off just might be worth it, after all, he’s going to need a hell of a lot more stamina if he wants to keep up with his new lover.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [scared that I couldn't find (all the answers, honey)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299858) by [sarahcakes613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613)




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